


Softly

by runoti



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: maui essentially acts like an older brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:12:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runoti/pseuds/runoti
Summary: Or the alternate title, "a Bad Thing happens and Maui struggles to cope with human emotions and the reality of things"





	

**Author's Note:**

> welp! second ever fanfic. I hope that it makes some semblance of sense, but ive never been one for coherent thought so we'll see. Un-beta'd, not really edited, i wrote this at like 3 am while treading the blurry line between sleep and consciousness. At this point im really just throwing my thoughts out into the void.
> 
> I really liked this movie.

After all is said and done its a few months before you're back into the swing of things, which makes complete sense. You had been stuck on a rock for at least a thousand years and you were aching to stretch your wings, and Moana had her village to attend to. You knew how important her duty to her people was.

But once that was over with, and you met each other once more on the vast expanse of the sea, it was right back to exploring. Adventuring. Delving into the strangest depths of the world, running rampant and free to wherever the wind and sea took you. Of course, after a few weeks at sea Moana always returned home, but in every journey that you ever took, you could see in that moment that she was truly free. Head held high, facing the sky with a wistful smile, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She loved her people, you knew that, but you supposed that she also needed a break every now and then. And if you were to be frank, it was comforting to know that she sought such peace in your company.

You were never one to think that you would actually prefer her company, but thankfully, falling into step with Moana was as easy as breathing. Up until that point you had always been alone, in every endeavor that you had ever pursued. You hadn't really thought that you were missing out on anything particularly life-changing when you charged off into adventure with no companion save for the little tattoo on your body, and to be honest you preferred it that way. But with Moana, it was different. You were equals. You were a team. It was as if you knew her as much as you knew yourself, and it was clear that the feeling was mutual.

Every move as if it were coordinated in unison, with no thought involved. Action and reaction, simple as that. You are a force of nature skimming restlessly on the wide open seas. Nothing but the two of you, and you make a great team. An amazing team, and you don't think that anyone in existence could ever match stride with you as easily as she does. It makes you happy. It makes you proud.

 

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And you think that maybe you had gotten careless, in all of your travels. Moana is all spitfire and tenacity, brushing off every scrape and injury as if it were nothing and then rejoining you in the fray, so its only natural that you start to think that she's as invincible as you are. She certainly acts like it. 

During a visit to Lalotai she gets a scratch on her foot from one of the little bottom feeding monsters, prickly skittish things with four limbs that closely resemble some sort of sea urchin, and its only a brief brush from one of their quills. Nothing, really. You tease her relentlessly about how she jumped when she stepped on it and the little spines pricked her skin, patting her roughly on the back and ushering her towards the canoe that awaits just beyond the barrier. She's had worse, she'll be fine.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Only, she isn't fine.

On the first day there's a flush that blooms on her cheeks, she brushes it off as nothing. You do too.

On the second day, she's feverish and shivering against the open wind, and yeah. Okay. Now you realize that something's wrong. You would think that spending so much time with mortals would allow you to recognize these sorts of things more easily, but apparently that's just not the case. The fact that she looks so weak, so vulnerable and unlike how she usually is, pricks at your heart with an icy claw. Fills you with dread and thoughts that you have to forcefully shove out of your mind. You aren't equipped to handle this, you never really get sick yourself. But you know of people who do know how to help.

A day's journey lies between you and her village. Just one more day. You let her rest as you pull the ropes to the sail.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The front of the canoe hits the sand in the early morning, and your feet follow suit mere moments later. Moana's all but limp in your arms, face ashy and eyes closed in pain. You call out to the village and the people that you know are there, and you don't care enough to hide the desperation thick in your voice. Not now. 

A group of the villagers rush to your aid, and you think that you recognize Moana's parents as they separate from the rest to take their daughter from your arms, all panic and concern. They whisk her off to the hut in the center of the village, and you stand still numbly, as if you were some lost child with nowhere else to go. 

You really don't have anywhere else to go. That stupid little girl is the center of this universe, for all intents and purposes, and yeah, sure her quaint little home is nice enough. But you only ever really gravitate towards it because of her, because she's so comfortable in belonging and sometimes she helps even you feel like you belong. If only for a brief moment. But you feel no warmth in this community without her gently coaxing it, not for you, and so you tread lightly on the edge until you can finally work up enough courage to follow them in. You inform them as best as you can to what happened.

The morning turns to day.

Day turns to evening.

They say that they're trying everything that they know but she isn't getting any better. You retreat from the village and wander aimlessly around the small island, and the inhabitants are intelligent enough to know not to incur a demigod's wrath, so they leave you alone. You check in on her regularly, and each time you feel her parents staring at you, and you think that yes, they must blame you.

Because you blame yourself, too.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

You go to the beach and ask the ocean for help, because it must know how to help somehow, but the only reply that you get is deathly silence and it fires you up so much that you uproot a nearby tree and send it sailing into water. Throwing the tree isn't nearly as cathartic as you hoped that it would be. There's still that burning ache deep inside your chest, and you sit down in the sand in defeat and stare out across the horizon.

She wasn't supposed to die like this. Not her. 

She was supposed to grow old, or at least old in human terms. 

Find some guy, or girl, or anyone. Have a ton of bratty, adorable little kids and fill her home with warmth and love. Withstand the barrage of time and mortality until she was but a frail hunched over woman, old and brittle but still so full of burning passion. 

Receive a peaceful end surrounded by friends and family willing to send off a life that was so full of adventure and love. She wasn't supposed to die to some little irrelevant pest on the bottom of the ocean floor. 

She was supposed to have more time with you.

You don't move from the spot for what seems like an eternity, until the sun begins to set and you pick yourself up off of the ground. Drag your feet as you return to the village.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You have never loved before.

Or at least, you don't think you ever have. Early on you took one look at the concept and decided that it wasn't for you-this soft, frail thing associated with giving love-and went on about your demigodly business. Receiving it was an entirely different story. Being loved, being adored by others was wonderful and you soaked up the attention ravenously, but you had never given anything like it so readily. It was never so simple, because you knew that it had the potential to be turned against you. Why give a part of yourself away when with a flick of your wrist others would give it to you willingly? Fill you up with it, so you never ached for its absence in the first place? It was good in theory, and it was the plan that you stuck to. Loving anything was definitely unfit for an all powerful, all knowing being such as yourself, all thick muscle and bared snarling teeth. An expression lit up in a fierce war cry that would put any monster to shame. 

You hadn't thought that such a thing existed inside of you, at least not in the way that it existed in other, simpler creatures. Or so you were told. There was never anything soft or gentle about you, you knew this, and it only reinforced the fact that you were above and beyond such trivial matters. Maybe loving, for you, was not loving anyone else at all, and instead loving yourself. You hadn't thought that it was real for you in any other form, and if it was, and you never experienced it, or chose not to give it...

Well, that was no skin off of your back.

Because you were wise enough to recognize that loving someone else was terrifying. Loving someone ate you up on the inside like a parasite, hungrily, without mercy, and all that it left was a hollow unhappy husk. 

You know this for a fact now. You can feel it eating at you in the way your own body stoops low to the ground, hunched over and curled in upon yourself like some pitiful weak thing. Face in the palms of your hands, breathing stiffly in an effort to ease the burning in your chest. Stripping you of your dignity and strength, leaving you drained beyond belief, all because you weren't certain whether one simple mortal would live or die. Loving reduced you to nothing. Loving made you like this.

 

How distressingly human.

 

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You don't remember falling asleep, perched at the doorway of the hut like a watchful hawk. Somewhere between being slouched over with your head propped up on your hand, elbow resting against your knee, you just sort of drifted away. But it's not like you're complaining. You're a demigod, you don't really need to sleep like these people, but you do want a break. And this whole ordeal has been... exhausting, and you are a proud man, but not proud enough to stave off the inevitable descent into blissful unconsciousness.

You're dead to the world. You think you dream, fleeting sensations and shapes skimming across the edges of your mind, and you think that maybe if you wake up there's a chance it will be to the revelation that this has all just been a bad nightmare.

You open your eyes.

And Moana's screaming. She's screaming.

You sure are awake now.

Your body jerks to the side and you half fall onto your hands and knees with the sudden realization, groggy and disorientated and still not quite grasping which way was up or down. Your fingers scrabble desperately against the wood floor as you pick yourself up and dart into the hut. 

She's thrashing in a fever-fueled fit, eyes still squeezed shut, blankets twisted haphazardly around her body as it contorts this way and that. You're by her side in an instant, knees skidding on the smooth wooden planks as your hands wrap around her slender shoulders. “Moana!”

“Don't!”

You're prepared for her to struggle against you, to bite and claw away from whatever demon her poisoned-addled mind has fashioned you to be. To say don't touch me or don't come near me don't hurt me don't-

“Don't leave me don't leave me Maui please!”

All eyes on you.

Her grasping hands latching desperately onto your forearms, curling into a vice-like grip that would've undoubtedly hurt any lesser man. You know exactly what memory she's reliving, and it kills you. It kills you.

You want to leave. To shape yourself into a beetle and burrow into the furthest corners of the earth. To twist your body into the form of a serpent and throw yourself to the deepest trench in the ocean. You want it so badly because you've never done anything like this before, and it scares you. Bashing your head against the rocks would be less painful than this. And speaking of pain, Moana is still raking her nails over your skin in hazy desperation.

You grab her flailing hands and she pulls herself up against you, half leaning onto your chest and quietly sobbing into the crook of your neck. Its a tired, defeated noise. You swallow.

“Rough night, huh kid?”

There's nothing that you can do. As much as you want it you can't even entertain the thought of pulling away from her now, because you've made that mistake before and it was one of the worst decisions in your life. With her claws sunk so deep into your heart, you resign yourself to your fate. Pull yourself up against the wall of the hut and lean against it in defeat, allowing your shoulder to be soaked in sweat and tears and fear. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

You didn't plan on staying around for long. Really, you didn't. Much like other aspects of life, staying around wasn't really your style. You figured that after Moana calmed down and relinquished you from her death grip, you would leave and slip out of the hut. As silent as a shadow.

You fall asleep with the smaller girl huddled into your lap, curled around her instinctively, and just like that your plan is blown out of the water.

Well, it was worth a shot.

The sun wakes you up with that insufferable glare that shines directly into your eyes, and when you open them you have to blink and squint as they adjust to the light.

Moana's staring up at you, and her brows furrow considerably as her foggy mind tries to comprehend what's going on here. She looks so confused. Its a real riot. Hilarious, even. If the circumstances were any different you would've laughed.

“Why are you.... Why are you here?”

You give her a snort of exasperation in response, though the feeling isn't really there.

“Wow, Moana. Rude. Not even a 'good morning?' Or a 'wow thank you for acting like a living pillow for the entire night, propped up against a hard wall. Does your back hurt?' Do you greet all of your friends this way?”

Her features scrunch up into a heavy scowl, but you can see the ghost of a smirk gracing the corners of her mouth. Its her turn to snort. “Nope. Just you.”

That gets a good chuckle out of you, and a relaxed smile from her, and when you're done you gently nudge one of her shoulders.

“Hey. Feelin' any better?”

Moana looks like a complete mess, with a thin sheet of sweat covering her face and her hair in a thick ball of tangles, but she scrubs at the corner of her eye and you can see some of the color coming back into her face. “Yeah, I think so.”

And you can finally let go of the breath that you never knew you were holding.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

It takes Moana a few days to recover from the harrowing ordeal, but you would gladly give her all the time in the world. You stay with her until she's strong enough to carry herself once more, and a few days after that. 

And when its finally your time to leave again, she stands on the edge of the beach to see you off and she gives you a sharp elbow to the ribs and that same bright smile so full of love and light. 

“I'll be seeing you, out there.”

If she were smart she would just call it quits, stop while she's ahead and count herself lucky that this time wasn't the last time. The world, your world, is big and dangerous and honestly no place for such a small thing.

But she was never one for giving up, was she?

You smile.

“Yeah. Be seeing you.”


End file.
